


Take on me

by sharkinterviewee



Series: Starmora Week 2019 [4]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Humor, Starmora Week 2019, Temporary Amnesia, sorta mission fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 01:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20788310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkinterviewee/pseuds/sharkinterviewee
Summary: They don't have time for this. Not if they want to make it out of here alive and with Peter's memory intact. For once in his life he has a healthy sense of caution, which is really inconvenient considering their time frame.Nevermind the fact that the first time they met she tried to kill him, and he still saved her life and placed his trust in her even though he had several very solid reasons not to. No, this is the time where Peter insists she give him a reason to trust her (the fact that it’s not an unreasonable request infuriates her to no end). Unfortunately, Gamora doesn’t have anything to convince a memory-less Peter Quill that what she says is true, they are friends, and they need to get moving now.Gamora pinches the bridge of her nose and growls. "How am I supposed to prove it to you when you don't remember anything, dumbass?""I don't know!" Peter squawks. "I have a vested interest in keeping myself alive, and right now that means not trusting the chick carrying a fucking sword."Starmora Week Day 4: partner/rhythm





	Take on me

All things considered, it could be worse.

Not that they were in a particularly welcoming situation at the moment, but Gamora was looking on the bright side of things. Something she learned from him.

Of course, that might actually mean something if Peter could remember teaching her that.

Which he can't, at the moment.

And Gamora is losing her patience, thinking maybe it would be easier to drag Peter's unconscious body to someplace safe rather than keep trying to convince him to come with her voluntarily.

This isn't the most hospitable environment for them to be stuck in- out in the elements during the dead of night, on a foreign planet covered in purple forests, an undetermined amount of enemies lurking somewhere in these woods- they didn't have a whole lot of time to waste.

But Peter doesn't know who he is right now. He doesn't know who she is either, and he certainly doesn't trust her.

As if that fact wasn't readily apparent by the gun he's had trained on her for the past ten minutes.

Gamora has to fight the urge to keep checking over her shoulder- knowing that just makes her look more suspicious, but she hates that this confrontation is taking place out in a clearing, leaving the both of them sitting ducks. She was reasonably certain there was quite a bit of distance between them and any soldiers, but she didn't want to bet on it.

“Why should I trust you,” Peter asks again, even though she's been trying to find an adequate answer for that very question that didn't amount to 'come with me if you want to live' (which isn't a joke that amnesiac Peter found very funny, apparently).

To make matters worse, Gamora's been coming up empty for reasons that a Peter who doesn't know anything other than the fact that he can't remember anything about his life should believe her.

Safe to say it's not going very well.

It feels more like a hostage situation where Peter is- out of ignorance- holding himself hostage in this dangerous situation, and Gamora's trying to talk down the gunman and rescue the victim who just so happen to be the same person.

The especially annoying thing is that he's right. Or he would be.

If this was five years ago, Gamora definitely would've been someone he shouldn't have trusted. His instincts about her would have been right.

She's certainly not going to point that out right now, though.

Peter narrows his eyes at her, gritting his teeth through the pain- his head fucking hurts. Everything hurts.

He doesn't even know if that's his name.

She called him that- Peter. Said her name was Gamora. That something happened, that they were teammates, _friends, _and that they needed to get out of here before it was too late.

She'd tried to get him to agree to come with her, saying they could sort everything out later, that he needed treatment to reverse whatever memory wonky shit he'd woken up with, adding that it wasn't safe here, that this clearing wouldn't be empty for much longer. So far, Peter had refused to budge.

His head was pounding when he stumbled into this wooded clearing, and he was so, so done with this place. He was done with the freaky trees, done with the silver bark that reflected the moonlight right into his goddamn eyes, done with this headache, done being lost in this nightmare forest, just done.

His whole body felt banged up, but at least he'd woken up with weapons (like the gun he was using to motivate green lady to keep a respectable distance).

From what he could see of himself, he's pretty sure he's spent more than a day in this forest. He's covered in scrapes and bruises that he has no idea how he got, grit and grime all over his hands, and his clothes are covered in dirt (he did wake up on the ground, after all).

He's only been conscious for five, maybe six hours, and as he walked he had the keen sense that someone was tracking him.

Hunting him.

Then she appeared.

Gamora, if that was her name.

Her black clothes were spattered in mud, her dark hair matted, yet seeming to catch a mauve shine in the moonlight. She had dirt smeared on her face and neck, scratches and scrapes on her forehead and cheeks paired with silver markings that seemed to be embedded in her skin. Clearly she'd been in this forest for a while too.

And she was armed- with way too many sharp things holstered on her person for him to be comfortable with.

Then her eyes flashed with recognition, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“You could've been the one who did this to me, for all I know,” Peter points out, not willing to just take her word for it when all he could be sure of was he was in a dangerous situation and his memories were fucked.

If he had escaped from some- facility, maybe she was the one sent to track him down and bring him back to whatever they were doing that had taken his memories in the first place. Maybe she was sent to clean up the mistake.

“I've got no reason to believe you. Zero. And you're awfully calm for someone being held at gunpoint- got experience with this kind of stuff? Can't say that instills me with a sense of trust.” He makes a vague motion towards her with his gun toting hand.

She's unperturbed by his insinuation.

“I could've disarmed you 10 minutes ago,” Gamora offers easily.

In the blink of an eye she shoots out, grabbing his arm and twisting it away from him, effectively restraining him and ensuring he couldn't shoot her in one move.

She would've just kicked the gun out of his hands, but she didn't want to risk hurting his fingers if he was gripping it too tightly, so she went with immobilizing him and twisting the hand holding it away from him as proof she could've disarmed him if she wanted to.

Peter grunts, struggling to escape her hold, but her arms are locked in position, his elbow over extended the wrong way, and even as his boots twisted in the dirt, there was no way for him to escape her hold without dislocating his shoulder and dropping his gun, which he refused to do (drop his gun, that is. He couldn't dislocate his shoulder even if he wanted to. Not on purpose, at least).

He keeps trying for another 30 seconds before he gives up.

“Okay, okay,” he grits. “You've proved your point.”

Gamora releases him and swiftly steps back. She isn't surprised when he points his gun at her again, despite the distance she's put between them.

She raises her hands in surrender. “Just proving a point,” she says mildly. “I could've taken your gun and shot you with it and be long gone by now if I wanted to. You don't exactly have the upper hand.”

“Maybe you just need me alive,” Peter counters, and Gamora absolutely hates that unlike normal, Peter actually has some valid arguments.

Still.

They don't have time for this. Not if they want to make it out of here alive, and with Peter's memory intact.

For once in his life he has a healthy sense of caution, which is really inconvenient considering their time frame.

Never mind the fact that the first time they met she tried to kill him, and he still saved her life and placed his trust in her, even though he had several _very _sold reasons not to.

No, this is the time where Peter insists she give him a reason to trust her (the fact that it's not an unreasonable request infuriates her to no end).

The fact that he's demanding the impossible doesn't help matters. Somehow, a Peter who doesn't remember how much shit he loves to give people just for the fun of it is more problematic than one who openly takes glee in causing trouble and making everyone on their team question why he was supposed to be their leader again. She would've thought that a Peter who didn't remember how much he enjoys 'giving her a hard time' just for the hell of it would've been easier to deal with. She was wrong.

Gamora pinches the bridge of her nose and growls. “How am I supposed to prove it to you when you don't remember anything, dumbass?”

“I don't know!” Peter squawks. “I have a vested interest in keeping myself alive, and right now that means not trusting the chick carrying a fucking sword.”

“You're the one with a gun,” she points out. “Maybe you're the dangerous one here.”

Peter gapes at her. “You said we were friends!”

Gamora sighs, because she didn’t mean he was dangerous to _ her _. Even pointing a gun at her, she still couldn’t see him as a threat, memories or no.

“We are,” she tries to explain. “Just- judging people by the weapons they carry is a bit hypocritical. Weapons that they may carry in self defense,” she adds. “You don’t know what you had that gun on you for. You only get the benefit of the doubt because you are the one wielding it.” She motions to her sword (still sheathed) at her side. “I have my blades on me, and you have a gun. We’re both carrying deadly weapons. It’s not exactly a reason _ not _to trust me, considering your own inventory.”

Peter gives her a doubtful look. “_ Those _are for self defense,” he says dryly, eyeing the bigass sword sheathed at her side, the daggers strapped into her boots- and another on her hip that he could see when the wind billowed her coat just right.

And those were only the ones he could _ see. _He had a feeling she had a lot more on her right now.

Gamora looks down at her tactical attire, then shrugs. “We fight bad guys together.”

“You see, now that sounds like something a bad guy would say trying to trick the good guy,” he pauses. “You know what-that whole thing is like something a kid made up! Saying we live out some childhood hero fantasy isn't even the slightest bit believable! Who the fuck fights supervillans in real life? You’ve gotta come up with a better story than that.”

Her first instinct is to snap back that it’s _ his _fault they lead these sort of lives, he’s the one who dragged her into this, he’s the one to blame for their “unbelievable” backstories. (Saving Xandar was supposed to be a one time thing for her, Peter's the one who made them a team, roped her into this galaxy saving profession of theirs). She manages to bite back the words on her tongue, though.

Gamora stalks over to him with murder in her eyes, ripping the gun out of his hand and dropping it on the ground.

She grabs his hand then, wrapping it around her, and places the other on her waist.

“W-what?” He's beyond confused. He doesn't try to pull away though, for whatever reason. Stunned.

Gamora ignores him, angrily wrapping her arms around his neck, pushing flush against him, and then she starts humming.

His arms instinctively tighten around her, and a flicker of a smile comes on her face.

She has a nice smile.

“What's this supposed to prove?” Peter practically whispers. Their faces are so close.

He doesn't know why his heart is beating so fast. Sure, she's pretty, but the way his breath is quickening right now, the swirling feeling in his stomach, it feels like more.

“Look down,” she tells him.

Peter does.

He hadn't even realized they were moving. But they are.

They're dancing together.

He doesn't know the moves, but his steps match perfectly to hers, their feet in perfect sync as they dance.

His feet move almost like foreign entities, like they're programmed, because he has no idea what the hell is going on, but he's leading her through the steps- automatically, when he steps back her foot follows, when he steps to the side, so does she.

Only she's not looking at their feet. She's looking at him.

Watching his face, moving through the dance steps with him with fluid and grace. She never falters or second guesses herself.

They both move like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Peter doesn't even know how to dance. He's just doing it right now, and she's doing it with him just as well.

“Muscle memory,” Gamora supplies. “We've done this before.”

She takes his hand and holds it up high, above their heads, before twirling out from under his arms, spinning away from him. She comes to a stop once she's as far as their extended arms can take her, still holding his hand, and Peter instinctively tugs her back in, does it just right to send her spinning right back into him.

He catches her, and Gamora holds onto him, smiling, something like exhilaration flooding through their veins.

“Okay,” he says. “What's the plan?”


End file.
